


All We Need of Hell

by Sassaphrass



Series: Burn your kingdom Down [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Batfamily Feels, Bruce is terrible at feelings, Clark Kent is a Good Bro, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Families of Choice, Gen, He is too Good for this world, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd is the sort of person who'd kill for you but would never show up to family dinner, So bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassaphrass/pseuds/Sassaphrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger Games AU: </p><p>While Damian fights for his life in the Hunger Games, Bruce struggles to hold himself together and Dick struggles to hold the family together. </p><p>Sequel to "Survival of the Fittest"</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Need of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this will make WAY MORE SENSE if you have read "Survival of the Fittest" at least. It will probably make sense on it's own but if it doesn't don't blame me
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mention of past forced prostitution and underage, a couple of slut shaming slurs directed at a person who has been a victim of sexual abuse, parent hitting adult son. 
> 
> Jason being a creeper and murdering people out of love again. 
> 
> There's also cuddling with a puppy though. So not all bleak.

 

_**“Well, I think that answers our questions about which of the many Victors in District 3 has most influenced young Damian? The boy can fly almost as well as Richard Grayson!!”**_

 

_**'Really, Ceasar? I'm not so sure about that. He seems to be playing more like his Mentor Timothy if you ask me...ruthless strategy. They've both got ice water in those veins.”** _

 

 

 

Bruce steps into the living room defeated.

 

His tribute had died that evening, not three hours ago, devoured by a mutt in the swamp arena.

 

He doesn't bother to turn on the light as he kicks off his shoes and blindly heads for the couch.

 

Damian is still trapped in that arena.

 

Suddenly a light turns on. Burce groans. Clark was sitting in the arm chair and had just turned on the light, as he blearily groped for his glasses.

 

“Using my tactics against me?” Bruce asks acidly.

 

Clark snorted, glasses finally located, and squinted at Bruce. “You know I don't go in for dramatics the way you do. I came to see you, and fell asleep waiting.”

 

Bruce collapses down onto the couch.

 

“Sorry about your tribute.” Clark adds.

 

Bruce turns to look at Clark questioningly, who smiles. “Only way you'd have come back here.” he explains. “Am I right?”

 

Bruce nods.

 

“I...uh. I'm sorry about Damian, too, you know. When I heard-”

 

“Well, sorry about your niece.” Bruce mutters, not moving from where he lay limp on the couch, the first rest he's had in days. Clark's niece had won the Games a few years back.

 

“Cousin.” Clark corrects him.

 

Bruce waves a hand in his friend's general direction. “Nuance.”

 

“You shouldn't blame yourself.” Clark declares, apropos of nothing.

 

Bruce turns boiling with sudden anger“I DON-” He catches himself and took a deep breath. “I learned long ago to remember who the real enemy is.”

 

Clark looks at his oldest friend over the rims of his glasses. It seems strange that they were the same age. Their lives had been so completely different.

 

Bruce groans and throws an arm over his face. “Why are you here, Clark? For that matter, how did you even get here? You're not mentoring this year.”

 

Clark clicks his tongue. “I got here by coming down a few flights of stairs, it wasn't hard. I came to the Capitol to discuss my latest book. The publishers wanted to go over my ideas, they're predicting big sales.”

 

Bruce doesn't move a muscle. “It baffles me that you still bother with that drivel. You're long past the age where anyone cares whether or not you actually pursue a ridiculous 'talent'.”

 

“I care.” Clark replies mildly.

 

Bruce still didn't move his arm. “You still have failed to tell me why you're here.”

 

Clark fiddles with his glasses for a minute and sighs. “I came because you're my friend Bruce, and your son is in the games.”

 

“Oh, stop that.” Bruce barks. Clark freezes for a second. “We both know that the Capitol had your eyes fixed after the Games. Those glasses are a ridiculous affectation.”

 

Clark forces a laugh. “On the contrary, these glasses remind me who I really am. Something I worry you forget from time to time.”

 

Bruce huffs. “Is now really the moment to lecture me on my sense of self?”

 

“I'm not- Urgh! Why does every conversation have to be a battle with you Bruce?”

 

Bruce moves his arm just enough to glance at Clark. “It reminds me who I really am.”

 

“Ha.” Clark growls. “Touche. Forgive me if I was concerned about what your mental state would be with your only son in the arena. Clearly, there's nothing to be worried about here... Business as usual.”

 

“He's not my _only_ son Clark.”

 

“Oh, my mistake. Are we counting the mass-murderer? Or just the other boys who you met by being accessory to their exploitation?”

 

Bruce sits up abruptly. “We're all murderers Clark, we've all done terrible things but Jason didn't do that.”

 

“Hmm, yes, mysterious murders targeting the people victimizing your eldest 'son'” here Clark makes some air-quotes. “ not long after the equally mysterious disappearance of your second oldest 'son'” air quotes again. “Yes, couldn't possibly be related.”

 

“You've been writing too many novels Clark. You've let your imagination run away with you. Besides it wasn't just Dick's clients that ended up dead.”

 

Clark did not look impressed with Bruce's cunning psychoanalysis.

 

“I actually came to talk to you about your boys.”

 

“My _sons_.” Bruce corrects doggedly.

 

Clark is unfazed and waves the correction away. “Nuance.”

 

“All of whom are perfectly capable and as safe as I can reasonably make them.” Bruce adds.

 

“Mmmhhmmm.” Clark did not seem convinced but Bruce hadn't slept in nearly three days and is too tired to argue.

 

“Can we talk about my sons tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.

 

“No, because once you've returned to full strength there's no way I'll be able to subdue you long enough to have the uncomfortable emotional conversation, which I'm about to have, without you running away or possibly incapacitating me in someway.”

 

“There's no way I'd attack you. Not with the Games on.” Bruce mutters into the pillow that he had shoved over his face. “The President would have my head.”

 

“You say that now but-”

 

“What's this new book of yours?” Bruce interrupts in a desperate bid to head of what he could already tell was going to be one of Clark's occasional lectures on how Bruce shouldn't try and sublimate all feelings and emotions but instead express them healthily. As though Clark knew _anything_ about _anything_. _The man spent his time writing books about an alien flying around in a cape._

 

“Well, if you really want to know. It's about this little boy wizard who's all alone, and so decides to make himself some friends. So first he enchants a bit of the north wind who takes the shape of a boy only bright blue, and then he makes one from clay, another from water and the last from fire, only problem is each of these friends has a personality and certain physical characteristics in line withe the element from which they're formed and when the little magician tries to keep them in his castle they-”

 

“Please tell me you did not write an entire novel just to prove a point to me.” Bruce cuts hims off.

 

“It was not _just_ to prove a point to you and it's not done anyway.”

 

Bruce groans and rolls over so he is actually looked at Clark over the end of the couch. “Fine. I'm tired. You've won.” He gestures to Clark. “Say what you need to and get out.”

 

“You have three sons.” Clark states.

 

“Four.” Bruce corrects.

 

“Either Jason is alive or he is dead you can't have it both ways.” Clark argues.

 

Bruce glares at him. “He's dead, but he's still my son.”

 

Clark rolls his eyes. “You _had_ four sons. One of which is dead, another is in the arena. Not much you can do about either of those things. Then there's Tim, who's mentoring and probably sleeping less than you do. You could help _him_ if someone would just let you see him. But no one will. Which leaves your oldest boy. He's arguably the safest, tucked up away back home in Gotham.”

 

Bruce makes a dismissive gesture. “Obviously.”

 

“But, he's all alone.” Clark continues, pausing obviously hoping Bruce will clue into whatever emotional epiphany Clark is trying to prompt.

 

“He has Alfred.” Bruce corrects with a frown.

 

“Oh, well if he has _Alfred_. Then I'm sure that will be _plenty,_ it's not as if that man has a considerable black mark against his child-rearing skills and emotional support in the form of your deeply damaged self. It's _not_ as though the kid is someone who thrives on physical affection and the comfort of having those he loves close to him. It's not like his obviously greatly adored little 'brother' might die at any moment while he sits idly by, helpless to do _anything_.”

 

Another hopeful pause. Bruce stubbornly doesn't say anything though he knows by now where Clark is going with this.

 

“Not as though he went through a period of a couple years where he pretty much had a panic attack if he didn't know where someone he loved was, due to the aforementioned dead son.”

 

“The panic attacks weren't about Jason.” Bruce met Clark's gaze. “You know that. And that lasted for 6 months at the most.”

 

“Yeah, they weren't _just_ about Jason. But they were _a bit_ about Jason, and we all pretend that's all it was. Even him.” Clark explains soberly.

 

“Now it seems to me that leaving such a person alone in such a state might be a bit of a disaster.” Clark finishes.

 

Bruce gives him an unimpressed stare. Clark huffs and relents. “-Not to mention the clusterfuck you might cause for us all by staying here, close to people you love but not actually able to reach them- No offense but when it comes to your kids you have a tendency to go temporarily insane.”

 

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just what are you saying Clark?”

 

“I'm saying: Go to where you can actually make a difference. I'm saying this Games was all about putting you in your place and I wouldn't be surprised if the Capitol is hoping you do something stupid so they have an excuse to execute you like they did with your parents....I'm saying you look like shit, why don't you solve three peoples problems at once by going home and letting Dick and Alfred look after you?”

 

Bruce thinks about that in silence for a moment.

 

“Okay.” he finally says.

 

Clark nearly jolts the glasses off his face he is so surprised. “You will?”

 

“Yes, tomorrow evening. There are things I need to get done in the Capitol before I go.”

 

 

Clark does not look like he believes Bruce.

 

“You can come with me tomorrow if you want. Walk me to the train and everything.” Bruce offers.

 

That seems to satisfy Clark who looks very pleased. “Alright.”

 

 

**_Damian slips down out of the trees to the island where the girl from District 4 has made the fatal error of giving into the cold and the damp by lighting a fire. He slits her throat with one of the knives he took from the Cornucopia which had been meant for a tribute now dead. She doesn't wake up until she's already bleeding out. Damian doesn't stay to gloat, doesn't bother to go through her supplies. He just wipes his blade and climbs back up to the safety of the trees._**

 

 

 

Clark is quietly against Bruce buying a puppy for Damian, voicing concerns about feeding it in the districts and making Tim jealous, but letting “ _What if he dies? What if you buy it for him and he dies?”_ Stay unspoken.

 

Bruce ignores him and gets a creature who he is assured will grow into a loyal gentle giant. That's the sort of thing Damian likes- animals, and dangerous things which can be made safe is you use them right.

 

When he gets back to Gotham he leaves the puppy with Alfred who doesn't say a word about it and instead informs him that he'll find Dick watching the Games in the large study.

 

Bruce follows the unspoken command and goes to find his eldest son.

 

Dick is curled up in the study looking miserable as he watches Damian carefully pick his way through the trees. He's tucked up in one of Bruce's old sweaters and has draped a robe made of enough silk that it could theoretically double as a tent over that. Bruce has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat when he sees it.

 

_He opened the door to see Dick naked and sobbing on his bed surrounded by ruined blue silk._

 

Dick had worn that robe and nothing else to be interviewed one time back in the heyday of his Capitol popularity. The weight of the fabric dragging behind him meant he'd had to fight to keep himself even partially covered, leaving his bare shoulders, chest and legs exposed to the crowd.

 

Bruce hadn't wanted him to wear it in the first place- he'd said it was too sexy and revealing for someone who was only 17, but Dick had loved the damn thing for some reason. He'd gushed about for weeks and practically glowed with pride after the interview when it was voted one of the best looks of the year.

 

But, Bruce couldn't look at it without remembering how, a few months later, he's come home to his son crying over how it had gotten ruined when some asshole Client fucked him on it. They couldn't even let him have that little thing to himself.

 

Bruce had stood there, helpless and awkward watching his son cry and not knowing how to help. Not knowing what to do. Enraged at what had been done and that Dick was crying about what had happened to his _clothing_ , not about what had happened to _him_.

 

Bruce was a millionaire, a trained killer, a vigilante who stalked the streets of Gotham and brought justice to a people without it, but he'd smiled and waved Dick off that evening, knowing his underage son was going to meet someone that was paying him for sex.

 

If it were him he'd have wanted to burn it, but it hadn't been about him. This was Dick, and he didn't see things the way Bruce did.

 

So Bruce had bought Dick another damn silk robe, exactly like the one that had been ruined. He had wanted so badly to make things better, but his time with Dick had rapidly taught him that love was something you had to learn, and he had never been taught.

 

Dick, bless him, had understood the gesture and accepted the present by bounding into Bruce's arms with a shriek of delight and a kiss on the cheek as though he was still something like a child. Somehow that had stung, that Dick had so little expectation of protection or comfort from Bruce that just buying him another robe had meant so much to the kid.

 

Bruce hasn't seen it in a long time. It had quietly disappeared along with most of the rest of Dick's Capitol fashions.

 

 

 

Dick looks up at him as he walks in, tucked up in acres of silk, looking pale, drawn and miserable, before returning his attention immediately to the television.

 

Bruce sits down next to him. “I bought Damian a puppy. For when he gets back.”

 

Dick nods without taking his eyes from the screen. “Good, he'll need something like that, to help him come back to himself.”

 

Bruce doesn't say anything, just tries to pretend that that's why he bought the puppy and not because, like he had so many times before, he had failed to protect one of his children and was hoping to buy their forgiveness with a gift.

 

He's jealous sometimes of the way Dick can understand Damian so easily. Bruce tries. He tries so hard to be what his children need, but he can't help but feel he's constantly failing them.

 

_Jason pale and throwing up as Bruce screamed at him... Jason screaming back._

 

Bruce suppresses a shudder at the thought, watching the commentator's try decipher the plan of one of the Tributes from 7. After Damian's slaughter of the Career's at the cornucopia this Games had been about the outlying districts.

 

Dick drapes a corner of his silk robe over Bruce's shoulder without looking at him.

 

Bruce tucks himself in closer to his oldest son, grateful for the permission to be close.

 

 

 

 

Dick goes down to see the puppy Bruce had bought later. Alfred has it in the kitchen and is muttering about the mess the creature will make.

 

Damian's cat (also named Alfred) is perched on top of the cupboards and won't come down for love or money.

 

Alfred hands the puppy to him and then steps back. “It's not good Master Dick.” he says. “He's acting as though Master Damian's return is a certainty.”

 

Dick doesn't say anything and pets the dog. He's secretly relieved that Bruce is as unwilling to accept the possibility of Damian's death as he is.

 

He think that if Damian dies it just might break him. Who is he kidding? If Damian dies it will break them all, except possibly Jason who barely knows the kid and is something of an expert on putting himself back together.

 

 

 

**_Damian punches the girl from 11 very hard at a very particular spot on her skull. She dies instantly. Damian grabs her bag and is gone before she's even hit the ground._ **

 

 

 

 

Damian has made the top 8, as they had known he would. So, there are cameras coming to interview them. It's old hat for Bruce and Dick, unlike the rest of the Tributes' families.

 

The film crews flutter around obviously much more uncomfortable with Bruce and Dick's celebrity than they are with the cameras. These people don't know how to do this when they're not talking to hardworking nobodies.

 

Bruce of course iss completely unphased, since he had invented an air-head party boy persona for exactly these moments.

 

He bubbles through the interview playing his role of loving but irresponsible and slightly dimwitted father to a T. Dick envies him that.

 

Dick isn't really sure how he should act. He isn't biologically related to the kid, but judging by how many times Capitol TV is playing slow-motion close ups of his expression when Damian's name had been called there was no use trying to hide how much the kid meant to him.

 

Besides which he doesn't know what to wear. He hasn't had to make a public appearance sans-stylist help in years.

 

He considers just sort of throwing one of the film crew into his walk-in closet, leaning on the door and telling her he won't let her out until she chooses an outfit.

 

Instead they tell him to wear something normal and every day. However, Bruce's old sweater is immediately veto-ed as being 'too hideous to marr your heavenly form', and his collection of old t-shirts and tanks is vetoed for similar reason.

 

In the end they put him in a blue-button up shirt, unbuttoned all the way to his navel, and some pants that are only just this side of decent as far as tightness goes.

 

Given Dick's historic fashion choices this is pretty restrained on their part.

 

The good thing is that after the fashion panic, the interview isn't too bad. Dick's forgotten how good he's always been at faking it for the camera. He smiles at right moments, and looks bereft and proud at others.

 

All in all it goes well.

 

Until he walks back home from what is technically his house but is really more of a specialized gym that also has a bedroom, and Bruce sees him in the outfit the camera crew had chosen.

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce rarely let's any emotion show on his face that hasn't specifically calibrated to make die a particular impression with whoever he is interacting with.

 

But he knows his mouth contorts in shock and horror at the sight of Dick strolling back from his interview in an outfit that makes him look half-way debauched.

 

 _No,_ they had spent _years_ trying to make people not want to sleep with Dick.

 

This...

 

...This feels too much like the moment they called Damian's name...everything'd spinning out of control and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Nothing he can do to safe them.

 

_Jason letting his hair grow out and going out at night almost every night until one night he never comes back._

 

He grabs Dick's arm before he's half-way up the steps and hauls him inside.

 

“What are you wearing?!” he hisses trying to keep the rage he usually only let's loose as Batman from clouding his voice.

 

Dick looks confused. Anyone else would be frightened, but Dick is perhaps the only person in the world Bruce has never been able to intimidate.

 

“It's a shirt Bruce.” Dick says like he thinks that Bruce has lost his mind.

 

“No, Dick.” Bruce says as though he's talking to a particularly brain-dead Capitolite child. “Shirts _cover_ you, that just...enhances bareness.”

 

Dick looks slightly annoyed but mostly just exhausted.

 

“I was wearing it for the interview. The crew picked it out.”

 

That's not right. The crew had just told Bruce to wear something nice and sort of every day. He'd put on one of his second-tier party suits.

 

Bruce gives Dick a look that demands answers.

 

Dick sighs. “I was nervous being on TV again and didn't know what to wear. This is what they chose from my closet.”

 

“You're telling me that for once you had a choice not to dress like a whore and you let someone else make it?” Bruce knows he needs to calm down but he can't.

 

_Dick dropped at his door without a word, naked and bleeding and where was Jason? Jason was out with a client, whathadhappenedwhathadhappened?!?!?_

 

“It's just clothing Bruce.” Dick says wearily trying to duck past him.

 

Bruce puts a hand on either side of the hallway and blocks his escape with a glare. He forgets sometimes how much bigger he is than Dick, but right now he's using his height to his advantage. Dick looks taken aback for a second.

 

“It's not just clothing. Not when it's you.” Bruce tries to explain.

 

“Let it go Bruce.” Dick's patience is fraying but Bruce _can't_ let it go. Not when it's this and not when it's Dick.

 

“No, we need to talk about this.” he protests.

 

“Talk about what?!” Dick shouts.

 

“About how if you don't want people to try and buy your body for their own pleasure you probably shouldn't dress like a slut!” Bruce shouldn't have said that, he knows he shouldn't have said that by the way Dick jerks back as if he has been slapped.

 

“If I'm a slut and a whore-” Dick hisses stepping in closer, his face a mask of fury. “-I guess that makes you my pimp.”

 

Bruce takes a swing and sends Dick sprawling.

 

Dick is holding his jaw, face caught between rage and shock.

 

“MASTER BRUCE!!!” Alfred yells from where he's standing in the kitchen doorway.

 

“I-” Bruce should not have done that. The sound is barely out of his mouth before Dick is hitting him back, and it's the familiar rhythms of sparring and battle until Alfred materializes again and starts squirting them with the plant mister.

 

They jump apart and Alfred has a pinched heartbroken look about him that is worse than any stern reprimand.

 

“I have cookies I must retrieve.” he informs them stiffly. “I trust you can be left alone momentarily without descending into riot?” he asks frostily.

 

They both nod, chastened.

 

“Look, I-” Bruce tries to reach out but Dick shies away. He sends him a single betrayed glance before darting inside to follow Alfred.

 

They eat dinner together because they always do when there isn't a major crime in progress and both of them are at home. It's one of Alfred's rules for which there are no exceptions. The room is silent as a tomb, until they finish and Dick asks to be excused.

 

Alfred nods his permission and Dick stands, hesitating at the doorway. “I think I'll go away for a while. Just until Damian gets back.”

 

Bruce nods in acknowledgement.

 

“Have they aired the interviews yet?” Bruce asks after Dick is gone.

 

“Yes, you and Master Dick did tolerably well, however I heard someone Describe Mistress Cassandra as 'irrate like a half-drowned cat' so her's could have gone better.” Alfred says.

 

Bruce nods again and takes another bite. It would be better if Alfred got angry at him for what he'd done. If the only parent who'd mattered in the long run would call him out on his bad behaviour.

 

But Alfred didn't do that. He wasn't Bruce's parent. Alfred hadn't said a word when Bruce decided to become a symbol of hope and justice by fighting crime dressed as a bat and he hadn't said a word when Bruce had driven Jason away.

 

He wasn't about to say anything now.

 

“Say something Alfred.” Bruce begs.

 

Alfred pats delicately at his mouth.

 

“I'm afraid I couldn't find the words.”

 

“Alfred...”

 

“No, Master Bruce. Deal with this yourself. Apologize. ”

 

Bruce nods. He'll apologize and then Damian and Tim will come home and maybe Dick will even hunt down Jason and Cassandra will emerge from her house and they'll all be together and somewhere nobody can hurt them, not even Bruce.

 

Bruce puts his head in his hands and wishes Clark could come and stay with them. It always makes Bruce feel better about his own parenting when he has Clark to compare himself to.

 

 

**_The girl from 7 is trying to emulate Damian's success in keeping up in the trees, but she's heavier and clumsier and it's not long before she's tumbling into the swampy waters. She flails around as she tries to get to land, but the reptile mutts get to her first. She disappears in flurry of splashing and blood before the canon booms out._**

 

 

 

 

Bruce waits, and waits and waits. He doesn't panic. He checks round the house that Dick has but never uses. He calls Cassandra. He calls his friends. He calls Dick's old girlfriend, the head peacekeeper's daughter who he never liked. He calls the circus people that Dick pretends he doesn't talk to anymore.

 

All the answers are the same: Nothing, Nothing, I haven't seen him.

 

It's been days. He knows Dick is angry and he doesn't expect forgiveness yet, but he needs to know that Dick at least is safe.

 

Alfred appears behind him with a cleared throat and an apologetic look. “You know Master Dick keeps an apartment downtown.”

 

Bruce bites back a snarl. “Yes, and I know that he pays for it in cash and moves every few months to make it difficult for me to monitor him there.”

 

“I'm sure he's fine, Master Bruce.”

 

Bruce glares at Alfred and tries not to tear his hair out.  


Bruce calls Clark and damn the bugs and the Capitol eavesdroppers.

 

“Who is this?” Clark sounds confused more than anything.

 

“It's Bruce.”

 

“On the phone?!”

 

“Obviously.”

 

Clark immediately knows it's serious.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Dick's gone.”

 

“Like gone gone? _Jason_ gone? Or like, _that time Damian stole your car_ gone?”

 

“I don't know. I punched him in the jaw and he stormed out and no one's seen or heard anything about him in days.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“He hasn't contacted you?”

 

“Why would he do that?”

 

“He knows he's your favourite.”

 

“He's the whole world's favourite, Bruce.”

 

There's a long pause before Clark says: “Don't worry Bruce, he'll come back. He always does.”

 

Bruce takes a long shaky breath.

 

 

_**Damian's starting to look a bit weak and shaky. There isn't a lot of fresh water in the arena. He's been getting some, but not enough. That night there's a parachute. Clean water, he gulps it down but doesn't bother smiling or voicing any sort of thanks.** _

 

 

 

Dick knows he shouldn't go out. He knows it, but he does anyway.

 

He doesn't call in to Babs as Oracle to let her know, because she has a bad habit of telling Bruce where he is when she thinks they've been fighting, and besides Dick's just going out to clear his head. _Yes_ , he's in costume but that's just because he really can't do back-flips off of buildings in any of his other outfits. It throws him off. It's a range of motion thing.

 

It's actually going pretty well in that respect. Dick knows that Bruce only said and did those things because Gotham's Dark Knight who remains stoic and impassive in the face of all other horrors crumples like a soggy house of cards when his children are hurt or in danger and he tended to...lash out at whoever or whatever was closest and could be blamed. They don't talk about the little rampage he went on when it became clear that Jason wasn't coming back. That had been a bad time to be a criminal in Gotham.

 

This time it had been Dick which was a bit of a shock but, was perhaps not surprising given the sheer extent of trauma that Bruce had suffered and been forced to witness Dick suffer. It was easy for them to accidentally hit the trigger switches and send each other into...bad places, mentally. Not that Dick was fully convinced there were too many _nic_ e mental places in Bruce's thick skull but, well...

 

Dick landed on a roof and rubbed at his jaw

 

. ...things sometimes got out of hand between them. There was a lot of hurt, and pain there, mixed in with the love. It was the first time Bruce had taken a swing at Dick like that, but it certainly wasn't the first time Dick had taken a swing at Bruce or screamed at him, it certainly wasn't the first time Bruce had yelled at Dick.

 

Dick straightened and looked over the other side of the roof. This was his favourite gap to do jumps over. The building across the road was _just_ the right amount lower and _just_ the right distance away.

 

Dick grinned and took a few steps back for a running start.

 

He leaps. What would be the fun of flying, after having this? He does a Backflip and lands in a handstand, flipping back up onto his feet to balance perfectly on the edge. He raises his arms in the air. _Grayson sticks the landing._

 

There's a sharp terrible pain in his calf and suddenly he's yanked back off the edge, cracking his head against the ledge on his way down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Red Hood looks up from his study of the peacekeeper routes when he hears yelling.

 

Jason sticks his head out to see a couple of his guards barring the way of a kid who jumps and waves at him when he sees the helmet.

 

“THEY SHOT NIGHTWING!!!” the kid screams like it's him that's been hurt.

 

Everyone freezes.

 

Jason grabs one of his machine guns and slings it over his shoulder. He points to the guards “You two, come.”

 

He points to the kid. “Take me there, now.”

 

The kid nods and takes off at a sprint. Jason follows and the guards keep up.

 

The kid skids to a stop only a couple blocks away which puts Jason on high alert. This is deep in the Narrows where the peacekeepers are rarely brave enough to venture.

 

The kid points around the corner and mouths something. Jason gestures to one of his men to take a peak. The helmet has many wonderful qualities, but making it easy to peak around corners is not one of them.

 

The guard nods. “They've got him. Two peacekeepers and a truck. He's down.”

 

Jason shoves the kid away. “Get out of here.”

 

The kid nods and shambles off.

 

Jason risks a look. Dick is in uniform curled up on his side. There's blood on his face and a metal barb through his leg. They've got his hands tied behind his back. One peacekeeper has his gun up, the other is standing in front of Dick grabbing at his face.

_Shit._

 

Dick screams and jerks as the peacekeeper recoils in shock with the domino mask in hand. _Idiot._ Jason has just enough time to think before he gets his gun up and shoots the man in the neck between his body armour and his helmet.

 

He goes down in a spray of blood falling back halfway across Grayson.

 

The other peacekeeper lunges out of the way of Jason's shot to his neck and right into his shot to the knee. Satisfied that the situation is under control, Jason holsters his weapon and jerks his head. “Take care of that.”

 

His men dash off after the hobbled peacekeeper. He's crippled and outside his territory, he better hope it's one of the Red Hood's boys that catches him and not some irate Gothamite with an axe to grind.

 

Jason kicks the body off of Grayson who's had the good sense to roll onto his front to hide his face.

 

“They're gone.” he growls.

 

Dick looks up at him and Jason's glad his helmet hides his wince.

 

Dick looks rough. He's bleeding all over- itt looks like the peacekeeper had ripped skin off with the mask and his face is already purpling up from whatever hits he took as they brought him down.

 

“That you?” he whispers fuzzily.

 

Jason nods. The peacekeeper has a black hood sticking out of a pocket. He grabs it and drapes it as gently as he can over Dick's head to hide his face, which though bloody, is still recognizable. .

 

“You hurt?” Jason asks.

 

Dick shrugs.

 

“I can't tell. I'm pretty sure I went into shock when I hit the ground.”

 

Jason sighs and gets a look at the spike through his brother's leg. There's a lot of blood but no spurting and it's dark. It didn't hit an artery. Goldie's luck still holds.

 

The spike is attached to a spool of steel cable on a mechanized winch. Jason peers up to the edge of the building.

 

He can just make out something up there that shouldn't be. This had been a trap.

 

He draws a bowie knife and cuts the ties at Grayson's wrists. Grayson struggles to his hands and knees swaying an alarming amount.

 

“Don't move idiot. If that thing hasn't mangled your leg yet you definitely don't to make it worse.” Jason barks.

 

Dick stills. But he's not quiet. He's laughing and singing quietly to himself, as Jason crouches down to test the cable, he can just make it out:

 

“ _He flies through the air with the greatest of ease, that daring young man on the flying trapeze...”_

 

“Shut up Goldie.” Jason growls, praying it's not brain damage from the fall that's making him sing like that.

 

The cable's too thick for knives. Jason mutters at Grayson to cover his ear. Grayson doesn't listen, and Jason puts his gun to the cable and fires. The cable cracks like a whip and would have given Jason a nasty cut if it weren't for the helmet.

 

A voice crackles in his ear. “Second peacekeeper is down, boss.”

 

“Good. Grab the body and get back here to deal with this one.”

 

“Right, boss. You want 'em disappeared?”

 

Jason looks at the spike that's still in Grayson's leg. “No, they left us some nice cable. Send a message about what happens to little boys in white that go where they shouldn't. I'll deal with the cape”

 

There's a snicker over the radio. “Will do boss. And..uh.. have fun.”

 

Jason gags at the leer in his underlings voice. Well, that was two strikes against him. Three meant he'd be sleeping with the fishes.

 

Jason heaves Dick, who's gone worryingly limp but is still singing even if it is slightly slurred, over his shoulder.

 

“... _his actions are graceful, all the girls he doth please! My love he has stolen away...”_

 

Jason shuts down the thoughts of his Games and how he'd carried the body of his District partner for hours before he finally admitted she was dead and left her for the hovercraft. Dick wasn't dead. Jason could tell because he was still bleeding.

 

Thank God the base was nearby, Jason might be bigger than Goldie, but the man was 5'10” of pure muscle and it was a slight strain to get him there. (Jason wasn't going to think about what might have happened if the base wasn't nearby and he hadn't gotten there in time to make a difference.

 

He roars for his people to clear the infirmary aka a slightly sterile room containing gauze and set up a perimeter in the Narrows. No one Capitol gets in or out. Anyone that tried got dead.

 

Jason dumps Grayson on the camp bed in the back and leans back to look at him. Dick's not singing anymore, and the hood is damp with blood.

 

Jason calls Dr. Leslie Thompkins. It's the only thing he can think of, even if she does hate the guts of most Victor's on principle. She's the only one who knows who's behind all the masks. Except his of course.

 

 

**_Damian stands there, scowling at the sword in his chest before he gingerly lowers himself to sit crosslegged on the ground. The head of the Career from 1 is next to him. He looks at it dispassionately for a second before rolling it away from him. It disappears into the water. The hovercraft appears only a few seconds later to collect him and declare him the winner._**

 

 

 

 

Now that the Games are over and Damian has won, Tim doesn't have anything to do. It will be days before the people in Remake decide that Damian is fit for public viewing, and then there will be the interviews and the coronation. They'll have to get a smaller crown, Tim thinks. Damian is little even for a 12year old.

 

It will probably be at least a week before Tim is allowed to go back home, but he has nothing to do until then, except wait.

 

He's surprised when he gets a call from Kon, Clark Kent's Capitol-born mutt of a son. Tim likes Kon, and usually makes a point of seeing him whenever he's in town. It's hard for the other boy, being what he is, Tim's one of his few friends, but with Damian in the Games Tim hadn't even thought about him.

 

“Kon, I'm sorry it's just with Damian-”

 

“Never mind that.” Kon barks, unapologetic of his rudeness in the naive way he tended to be. “Kal sent me a message. Your brother is missing?”

 

“Damian?” Tim asks confusedly. “That's impossible he's in Remake-”

 

“No, the other one. Dick Grayson.”

 

Tim stops breathing for a minute. “No, that can't be he's in Gotham. He's safe.”

 

“All I know is no one has seen or heard from him in a week. Not even when Damian won. There's been trouble in town too, that's why they had me call. Telephone calls outside of Gotham have been shut down.”

 

“So, you don't know for sure?”

 

“He said he'd be back for Damian, but in case he's not there...”

 

“I need to be prepared.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Tim hangs up without saying goodbye. Kon won't mind. He doesn't notice things like that. Tim hopes like hell this is a misunderstanding and Damian will punch him in the stomach when Dick shows up and yell at him for playing such a mean joke by telling him that Dick was missing.

 

When Tim sees Damian for the first time after the arena he knows he won't tell him. The kid is barely holding on by a thread, and if Tim tells him about this now he'll fall apart. They can't have that. He needs to get through the interview and crowning first. They can only afford to let him fall apart once he's safely behind closed doors in Gotham. They can get him there before he has to find out.

 

 

 

_**Damian looks strong when they put the crown on his head, but he doesn't smile. He meets the President's gaze with a steady glare. One that the people of the Capitol have learned he can back up. It's pretty unsettling coming from a 12 year old looking at the leader of his country.** _

 

 

 

Bruce is caught between pride and sorrow. His son knows better than to let the Capitol love him. He knows what fate would be waiting for him should that happen. He's also a little heartbroken, because despite the sneers of _demon_ that had followed Damian since the day he was born, to Bruce he'd always just been a little boy, and he shouldn't have to kill just to save his own skin.

 

 

Bruce sees to it that everyone goes to the train station for Damian's home coming. Alfred even agrees to leave the house and Cassandra somewhat grudgingly agrees to brave the crowds. Bruce had considered bringing to puppy as a decoy to distract Damian from the one notable absence but he knows that wouldn't work for long, and besides he hasn't seen his son in weeks. He doesn't want to be distracted looking after a stupid dog.

 

He's not letting himself think about Dick today, about the rumours of riots in the Narrows over the supposed death of Nightwing. There are certainly a few dead peacekeepers. Oracle said that someone kept sending pieces of them to the Peacekeeper Headquarters. But there was no proof of Dick's death, just that the peacekeeper's didn't have him. Rumour had it Red Hood had grabbed him. Bruce hoped that was true.

 

Bruce puts on his best play-boy millionaire smile when he sees Damian step down from the train. His son looks far too thin, as if he hasn't been eating even now that he's out of the arena. He sees Damian scan the crowd, once, twice before returning back to meet Bruce's eyes with a questioning gaze.

 

Bruce knows who Damian is looking for and steps forward hoping to get him into the car before he has to say it. “Damian, son, I'm so glad to-”

 

But Damian knows something's gone terribly wrong, or he assumes the worst and suddenly he's falling to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut. He doesn't even try to break his fall and his head thunks hard against the ground.

 

Bruce, and everyone else are frozen in horror for a second. Damian is curled in on himself and howling with sobs.

 

Bruce snaps back to himself while everyone else is still staring in mute fascination at his crying bleeding son. It takes him two steps to get to Damian and then he has him in his arms and is shouldering his way through the crowd back to the car. Tim and Cassandra are following at his heels and Alfred helps to clear the way.

 

Bruce cradles Damian close the entire ride home but the boy doesn't stop crying and wailing.

 

They've left the cameras behind at the station but that doesn't stop them from running for the house. Tim dashes ahead to draw the curtains, Cass sprints ahead to make sure Damian's room is ready, and Alfred heads to the kitchen to prepare a tray.

 

Bruce gently places his son on the bed and curls up around him trying to calm him down, but Damian won't _be_ calmed.

 

“I did what he said!” Damian sobs. “I just did what he told me to!”

 

Bruce looks to where his next two youngest children are standing in the doorway. They look sad and lost. Damian is usually so unshakeable.

 

Alfred shoulders his way into the room with a tray of cookies, and some tea. He offers them to Damian who shakes his head. Alfred pulls out a syringe and looks at Bruce questioningly.

 

Bruce nods. Alfred takes Damian's unresisting arm and injects him. In a moment he goes quiet, in a few more he goes limp and his breathing deepens.

 

“Sedative.” Alfred explains to the room, stating the obvious.

 

Bruce shifts Damian closer. He looks wrecked even in his drug-induced slumber.

 

“We don't leave him alone. No matter what, he is never by himself.” he orders the room.

 

They all nod. Bruce looks at Tim. “Go find the puppy. I want it here when he wakes up.”

 

Tim nods and leaves. Cassandra hesitates in the doorway.

 

“I'll join you, if I can?” she asks.

 

Bruce nods and she climbs up onto the bed next to him.

 

“I don't like him, most of the time.” She confesses. “But I like him even less like this.”

 

Bruce nods.

 

He gives Damian the puppy when he wakes up. Damian accepts it solemnly and doesn't start wailing again. Which initially, Bruce takes to be a positive sign, but Damian then spends the next three hours curled up around the dog and staring at the wall and Bruce isn't so sure.

 

 

 

 

**_“I have to say, that was NOT what I expected!”_**

 

_**“I don't think it was what ANYONE expected!”** _

 

_**Damian crumples to the ground again in slow-motion.** _

 

_**“I have to say I'm very intrigued by this because there wasn't even the slightest clue at any point that he-”** _

 

_**“-had feelings at all?!”** _

 

_**“EXACTLY!!”** _

 

_**laughter from audience** _

 

 

 

 

Dick wakes up hazy, and unsure where he is.

 

He spends some time trying to identify the ceiling before concluding that he's in an attic. There's an IV pole next to his bed and a tube in his arm.

 

There's a noise to his right and he turns his head, which hurts, and sees Jason sans-helmet leaning against the wall looking worried.

 

It's strange to see Jason looking worried. To see Jason's face at all really. He'd gotten used to the featureless visor of the red helmet.

 

Dick shifts in preparation for an attempt to stand and Jason darts forward placing a hand on his chest and gently holding him down he shakes his head and waves his other hand.

 

 _Okay then_ , Dick thinks. _I won't get up._

 

Jason still looks nervous but is apparently satisfied Dick isn't going to move and steps back to reach for his helmet.

 

“Don't.” Dick croaks and he must be really pathetic because Jason actually hesitates. “I haven't gotten to look at you in years.”

 

Jason gives him a look which probably pretty accurately conveys how idiotic Dick is being but Dick doesn't care just forces a smile and sticks his tongue out.

 

Jason moves away and rummages around. The room is small and low and Jason would look too large for it if there was anything else there except a table and a couple suitcases, oh, and a whole lot of guns on the wall.

 

Jason sticks something to his throat that has wires running out of it and then there's a strange unemotional computerized voice filling the room.

 

“you idiot.”

 

Dick doesn't have to force a smile this time. “Missed you too little bro.”

 

“shut up grayson you nearly died you've been in a coma for days dr. Leslie wasn't sure you'd wake up.”

 

“Damian?”

 

Jason twitches violently at that, as though he's barely suppressing the urge to leap across the distance and strangle his brother himself.

 

“ won his games i think he got home today but i haven't checked.”

 

Dick very gingerly rolls onto his side. Jason doesn't move to stop him so he figures it's okay. There's a bucket next to his head.

 

“What's the damage? I need to get back home.”

 

“bad your leg's fucked for quite a while you've got a few broken ribs fracture in your elbow and then there's your face dr. Leslie says she'll make it heal without a scar though it'll take a few days.”

 

“Let me see my face.”

 

Jason shrugs and hands him a mirror. Dick's hands shake when he looks. It's bad, shit it's really bad. There's a scrapes all over where he hit it on the way down, half his face is purple and swollen but worst of all there's a nasty looking wound around his right eye where pulling his mask off had ripped the skin of too and the outer edge of it clearly follows the outline of the domino mask.

 

“Fuck” Dick declares weakly. It's like having “hello, I'm nightwing!” tattooed on his face.

 

“yeah, leslie's got a spray she says will make it heal without a scar she left me some... by the way word got out that some peacekeepers took down nightwing people thing you're dead”

 

“What!?”

 

“kid who came and got me saw it all plus my guys talk it was all over town that you were hurt pretty badly and i dragged you away i had to do some damage control”

 

“I need to go home. How is saying I'm dead damage control?”

 

“because if you had showed up hurt a few days after nighwing got taken down everyone would have known it was you this way everyone saw nightwing's body at his improptu viking funeral and your injuries can be explained as having occurred during the riots which also conveniently cover up fro your disappearance”

 

“RIOTS?! Viking funeral!? Jason, have you had another psychotic break!!!?!!”

 

“no the service was lovely by the way you had a nice turnout”

 

“Do I want to even know how you had a funeral for me without my body?”

 

“I had your suit, it wasn't hard to find someone close enough in size to serve as a standin”

 

Dick gulps and very deliberately does not ask whether said person had been alive or dead when Jason had decided they were a close enough match to serve as his corpse.

 

“So what now?”

 

“it's well known dick grayson keeps a hidey-hole apartment in the city you stay here until that leg's not so obviously been impaled and then you go home say you were injured or trapped by the violence”

 

“No one will believe that I wouldn't somehow get past that to get home to Dami.”

 

Jason rolls his eyes. “if you were out during the games it's cause bruce was being psychotic again just use that as an excuse the capitol will eat it up they love the drama.....what did he do”

 

Dick puts his hands over his eyes with a wince. “Urgh.” he groans, ignoring the question. “I _need_ to go home.” he repeats.

 

Jason hesitantly reaches out and pats Dick on the shoulder.. “it'll be okay”

 

“Maybe.” Dick grumbles. “But, I know Damian. He needs me right now and I'm not there.”

 

Jason steps back and just looks at him sadly. “you can't be you would if you could.”

 

 

 

_**“Who cares about Gotham's demon-boy breakdown?! I've just received a scoop you won't believe: according to sources very close to the Victor's of District 3 Dick Grayson mysteriously disappeared 2 weeks ago and has not been heard from since. Of course, it was nearly 10 years ago that another Victor from District 3 disappeared, some of you may remember Jason Todd... So dear viewers what do you think? Is it jealousy? Foul play? Or is the little scamp just hiding away in a love nest somewhere with a nubile young Gothamite?!”** _

 

 

Clark is expecting the call after he sees the story.

 

“YOU TOLD LOIS!!!?!” Bruce roars the second he picks up.

 

Clark winces and holds the phone away from his face, but doesn't argue because, well, he did tell Lois and he deserves this.

 

He waits out Bruce's tirade which includes a lot of aspersions against his family, loyalty, character and species.

 

Once Bruce has to stop for breath Clark cuts is. “Bruce I told her as my friend and girlfriend. She published it without asking me.”

 

Bruce pauses as he takes a moment to mull this over.

 

“Did you break up with her for that?” he grumbles, clearly willing to be placated if the answer is 'yes'.

 

Clark stares at the ceiling. “I told her that I needed some time apart to consider whether or not I wanted to be in a relationship where anything I said can and will be on the news the next day.”

 

“Fine. That will do.”

 

“Any word from him?”

 

“No. There's been rioting in the Narrows though, rumour has it Nightwing is dead.”

 

“Oh no. That could be bad.”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce sounds defeated. “I haven't even talked about Damian yet...”

 

“You don't have to I saw it on the news.”

 

“So, you know.”

 

“Yeah, is he doing any better?”

 

There's a long pause. “He's done worse.” is all Bruce says before hanging up.

 

 

 

 

 

Damian only stays in bed for a day. He's calmed down enough by then to get up. What would his mother say? Falling apart like that- worse what would Grayson say? Grayson never let anything slow down his whirling dervish of bad humour and big smiles.

 

So Damian did what he could and he got up in the morning, made his bed and then carried his puppy downstairs to feed him. He sets himself in motion and continues to be in motion. Days pass.

 

He names the dog Titus.

 

He's putting all the effort and concentration that he usually spends on training or permanently maiming the deserving into looking after that dog, and also not crying.

 

The not crying part is proving to be somewhat difficult.

 

Father goes out without him and let's Tim be his Robin. Damian knows that they're all secretly hoping he'll pitch a fit at the injustice and demand to be reinstated but he can't muster the energy. Instead he waves them off and goes back to his room.

 

He's wearing an old sweater of Bruce's that Grayson had co-opted years ago. It's comforting. It smells like all the hugs Damian has ever gotten.

 

His father has explained to him that Dick isn't dead, he's just missing. But it's been a week and there've been riots in the Narrows over Nightwing's death.

 

Red Hood had a Viking funeral for god sake's- it was all over the underground networks.

 

Damian can't stop thinking about how to kill people. It's not like before when he's gleefully considered all the ways he could ambush Drake, or poison Pennyworth or drown Grayson in his own-

 

It was like he had no control over his own thoughts. He's sitting in his bed with the dog drawing something and Alfred comes in with a tray and suddenly Damian is coldly thinking about how a jump attack with a pencil to the eye would take the old man down before he'd have time to drop the tray.

 

Instead Damian just holds the dog closer and nods to Alfred. He knows they worry about his continued silence but he can't think of things to say when he's so busy trying not to picture Alfred's brains on the carpet.

 

He drinks the tea. It's the kind that Alfred orders from District 1 just especially for Damian.

 

He sits there and stares at the dog. He wishes he could feel something, but if he let's himself feel anything he'll end up collapsing screaming and crying again.

 

He lies down on top of the covers and pets the puppy. Father had bought it for him. It was a surprisingly insightful gift, but Father was deceptively good at getting his children what they didn't know they needed.

 

Alfred shouts something downstairs, and there's a crash.

 

Damian sits up and frowns. It didn't sound like a cry of fear or anger.

 

He creeps down the stairs clutching his puppy who wriggles uncomfortably. Damian tries to silence the voice which tells him to break it's neck so as not to give away his position.

 

He gets to the bottom of the stairs and peeks around the corner.

 

Alfred's got his arms around someone, and if Damian didn't know better he'd say the old man was crying. Only Alfred didn't cry, he might in dire circumstances allow himself a manly sniffle, but _only_ in dire circumstances.

 

The person he's hugging has some crutches and is hunched over.

 

Titus whimpers and the person looks up.

 

Damian has dropped the puppy and is running over there before he can blink.

 

Grayson is trying run towards him too but his leg is bandaged and he falls. Damian jump tackles him and Dick screams.

 

Damian jumps back trying to keep from crying at this rejection. It's only now that he realizes how bad Dick is hurt.

 

His face is a mottled green and yellow from fading bruises, there's a mark under his cheekbone like he had a cut there that's only just healed. One of his arms is in a sling and one of his leg's is bandaged and braced from ankle to knee, not to mention he's hunched over as if straightening might hurt him, but Grayson smiles at Damian anyway.

 

“I didn't mean leave!” Dick sqwawks reaching for Damian from where he's sitting awkwardly on the ground. “I just meant: be gentle! I've got some broken ribs!”

 

Damian edges forward and sits down next to Dick on the floor. He can see Alfred biting his tongue to swallow the reprimand for this breach of etiquette, but ignores him to lean gently against Grayson.

 

“What happened?” he asks, even though he knows this is the Victor's Mansion and the only truth Grayson will give him is the truth he doesn't mind the Capitol hearing about.

 

Grayson reaches over with his good arm and ruffles Damian's hair.

 

“I'd have been here if I could, but I got caught up in the Nigthwing Memorial Riots, people took me for a Capitol collaborator and-” he gestured to himself. “Here we are.”

 

Damian nods. “Father bought me a dog.”

 

“I know!! He showed me when he got it! Isn't it cute?!” Dick squeals in delight.

 

Damian calls Titus over and proceeds to list all his many wonderful qualities and his progress in the obedience training regimen that Damian has instituted.

 

Dick smiles and claps in all the right places and doesn't ask whether Damian's found time for all of this by ignoring all his own previously iron-clad training regimen.

 

Damian takes a bow and hands the puppy to Dick.

 

“Does he have a name?” Dick asks.

 

Damian pulls his knees up to his chest. “I've been calling him Titus- for a character out of my mother's old books.”

 

Dick laughs and cuddles the puppy. “That's too serious a name for such a cute little dog!!”

 

“Tt” Damian sniffs in derision but looks at Grayson out of the corner of his eye. “What would you name him?” he asks.

 

“Something simple, like Scout or...I know: Ace!”

 

Damian makes a face. “I will not be naming my dog anything so uncivilized as Ace.”

 

Dick smiles his 1000 Watt smile and grabs Damian close in a one armed side hug. “Aw. I missed your patronizing disdain, lil D.”

 

Damian wraps his arms around Dick, gently this time. He doesn't tell him that he missed him too, but he decides it's pretty well implied.

 

 

 

_**“So, we've got Richard Grayson here who's got a lot to answer for with the worry he's caused us all this week!”** _

 

_**“Seriously? I leave you all alone for a couple of days and suddenly the world has ended!!!” Richard Grayson laughs into the camera. He's standing outside in the Victor's Village of 3.** _

 

_**“Now tell us, what was it that drove you into the dangerous streets of Gotham that night?”** _

 

_**“Honestly?” Grayson gets an impish look on his face. “Bruce didn't approve of my interview outfit, he said not to dress like a slut even if I was one!” He winks at Caesar who proceeds to pretend he needs to fan himself.** _

 

 

 

Bruce's children are all back. And they're all alive. But, the more he looks at them the more he feels that it's just luck. For all of them. They can't just think of Gotham anymore, they've got to start thinking bigger.

 

He calls Clark from the secure line in the cave under the burnt out husk of his parent's manor.

 

“I think Jason may be right.”

 

“Hell truly has frozen over.” Clark sounds deeply shocked.

 

“His plans and execution are completely and utterly wrong but his underlying principles may have merit. We need to start being more aggressive.”

 

“We've talked about why violent revolution is not an option now.”

 

“I'm not saying we declare war on the Capitol, I'm simply suggesting we ramp up our efforts. Jason has an entire neighbourhood that the Capitol can't seem to touch. We need to get zones like that elsewhere.”

 

“It's not so easy outside of urban centres.”

 

“I know, but there are weak points we can press, like Gordon here or Luthor where you are.”

 

“I think I see what you're saying.”

 

“There's more too.”

 

“Since Nightwing is officially dead, Dick's agreed to spy for us in the Capitol. His cover is he's had it with how dangerous Gotham is and the tension between .”

 

“Have you told the kid?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“What's he say?”

 

“Him and the dog will be going with him.”

 

“Well, that answers the question of whether or not the President will take this oppurtunity to force Dick back into seeing clients, seeing as how being dismembered by a twelve year old often offends.”

 

Bruce almost laughs at that. God he loves his sons.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Look it's done! *Confetti* Dick didn't die! 
> 
> I don't understand how this got so long but it did. I hope you guys like it.  
> Bruce is the worst but I do believe he loves his kids like NOTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD. Also, puppy fixes everything.
> 
> Oh, also! The title is from an Emily Dickinson poem: "Parting is all we know of Heaven and all we need of Hell"


End file.
